The campaign

Second act

AMERICAN elections are five-act mysteries. They have their longueurs, the occasional laugh or dramatic moment, but above all, lots of different scenes. They are not, as in other countries, intense one-acters. This campaign is already into Act Two. The change can be seen in the performance of three of the four leading men.

Al Gore ended the first act face-down on stage, the audience hooting with derision. His speeches had been turgid, his delivery wooden. He looked like the best supporting actor who would never make top billing. The task in Act Two is to rebuild the Gore character. This started last month. Now, he strides on dressed in an olive suit, grabs the microphone and cracks jokes (“In Congress, the right hand doesn't know what the extreme right hand is doing”). He departs from the script to talk to members of the audience. He describes his home life, his blind aunt and his surprising background as a Vietnam-era dissident. This character has added depth and feeling.

Admittedly, his reviews have been lousy. Critics complain that that he has been straining for effect, his voice strident and his timing flat. To them it is “Re-enter pursued by a wolf”. But the audience seems to like this new character. Barely noticed, Mr Gore's polling numbers—the campaign's measure of applause—have been inching up. He has narrowed the gap between himself and the Republicans' George W. Bush and, for the first time in months, has drawn ahead of fellow Democrat Bill Bradley in New Hampshire.

If Mr Gore's task is to display some of the glitz needed to be a star, Mr Bush's job is the exact opposite. Everyone knows he can hog the limelight. Act One showed that. But, at the end, it also suggested that he is a handsome, likeable dope. The next act is therefore about giving the juvenile lead some gravitas. This endeavour—an uphill struggle, some think—starts this week, with a long speech on foreign policy in California. It has been prepared with hours of patient coaching by the best drama teachers in America. This time, it is hoped, the actor will not fluff his lines or forget the names of certain minor players, as he did at the end of Act One.

Act Two will also see Mr Bush on stage more often. His Texas fan club has helped him to write an autobiography (“A Charge to Keep”, Morrow), published this week. And now he will be seen interacting with the other characters, arguing with them in set-piece debates. This will be vital. The aim is to show how he performs as the tension mounts. So far, the audience has no idea whether or not this character can stand up to pressure or will go to pieces. In Act Two, he will start to handle adversity.

For his theatrical foil and understudy, John McCain, the second act is also beginning. His first was a triumph. Brought on as a spear-carrier and expected to blend into the scenery, he proved a smash hit with the critics. But the McCain character has been one-dimensional so far. Part of the audience cheers wildly when he talks of honour and integrity. But only part. He now has to show that he is more than that stock figure, the peppery military man, admired for straight talking but lacking the suppleness of mind to dominate the stage at the end.

That leaves the most mysterious of the four leading men: Bill Bradley. He seems to belong to a different play, one of long, anguished soliloquies interspersed with occasional knockabout intermissions with great sports figures of the past. His performance is unlikely to change all that much, at least until he joins the rest of the cast in New Hampshire, where Act Three begins in February—and the characters start getting killed off.